“Hi, Sydney.”
“So, we finally got some news on the cell phones piggybacked on those computers.”
Mei tried to unlock her tablet with the wrong password twice before she remembered she’d changed it to Jodi’s birthday. “What’ve you got?”
“It’s not much,” she admitted. “Both phones are disposable, of course. The first one, which ends 9008 was piggybacked to the Acer computer we found first. That one was never used for voice, only data, and only from a single location.”
“The apartment that burned down last night.”
“Exactly.”
Mei sighed. “The other one?”
“The second phone, which ended 7651, was almost exclusively used for data, except for a period of about fourteen hours on a Monday at the end of July. That day, it made seven calls.”
“To—”
“Four of them were to another disposable phone. We’ve requested records for that one, too… which we’ll have sometime next week.”
“Next week?” Mei repeated.
“I know. It’s ridiculous,” Sydney agreed. “The good news is that the last three calls were to a traceable line. It belongs to a Cecilia Criado. Goes by Cici. No record.”
Mei typed. “We have an address for Cici?”
“We do. I just texted it over to Patrick.”
“Great. I’ll follow up with them. Anything else I should know about?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll keep you posted the second I hear.”
“Appreciate it.” Mei stared at the name. She emailed Ryaan to ask if she wanted company on the follow up. Then she went back to searching the underweb for references to Sam Gibson aka Greeneggs. She was also running any searches that might link Amy or Aaron to Gibson. Aaron had shown up at eleven and spent most of the day either huddled over a computer taken in an embezzlement case or out at a series of meetings about which he offered no details. Mei considered following him if it weren’t so obvious. Everything about him made her suspicious, but it was nothing more than a paranoid delusion until she found evidence to take to Sergeant Lanier or Captain Finlay.
Teddy and Blake had drifted back to their workspaces and were talking animatedly as they worked. They already knew that whoever had configured the Raspberry Pi had set it up to self-destruct. The first computer had been set up the same way. Teddy searched for any bits of code that had survived with the hope that the hacker left his digital fingerprints. He’d also put out some feelers to his Black Hat friends to see if he could identify the components and confirm that Sam Gibson was the hacker that way. Blake, meanwhile, was breaking down the physical components with the same goal.
They made zero progress the rest of the day, but Mei had the sense that they were slowly homing in on their suspect. The best news of the day had come from her friend Julie from the wine bar. Julie’s cousin, Sabrina, agreed to meet for a quick drink after work to give her some tips on finding an apartment. Julie was going to try to join them, too. Maybe apartment hunting would take Mei’s mind off the strong sense that someone she worked with wanted her dead.
Chapter 27
Saturday morning, Ryaan slept late. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she had turned her phone off. In fact, she had turned it off when she’d gotten home Friday night, and settled into the couch to watch X-Factor with her mother over dinner. After that, one of her mother’s sleeping pills.
It worked. When she rolled over to look at the clock beside the bed, it was almost ten in the morning. Her mother was already out with her church group and Ryaan spent the morning in her pajamas, drinking coffee and reading four weeks of newspapers that she kept telling her mother not to throw out. She should have done something useful like go grocery shopping, take a run or even do laundry, but instead she spent the day being one hundred percent lazy. When she finally turned her phone on, it was almost five in the afternoon.
Within forty-five seconds, she’d gotten eleven text messages. One from Patrick saying he had Karl Penn’s cell phone number and had issued a subpoena for the records. The next one was from Sydney Blanchard to confirm the Rookie Club Dinner for next Wednesday, which set off a flurry of responses. Hailey had to make sure she had kid coverage. Cindy Wang would make it. Jamie Vail and Linda James would not. Then there was a message from Hal. “Want to grab dinner?”
Ryaan looked at the time stamp from 4:48 tonight. She hated that she couldn’t tell the time the text message had been sent. Yesterday? Or today? She scrolled back through the messages about the dinner, but none said anything that placed the time.
What the hell. Just turned on my phone after twenty-four hours. She paused, trying to think of something clever. She stared at the ceiling. She was not clever. She was not coy. She was the kind of woman who went out without realizing she had eczema cream on her face. But, he had asked her to dinner. That was a vote in her favor. Pity, came the quick response in her head. Ridiculous, she shouted back. Catching up on some much-needed beauty sleep. Did she assume the message was for last night? For tonight? Did she want to go out to dinner tonight? Was it pathetic to just want to curl into bed with a book on a Saturday night? Of course a little pathetic, but she already knew she was a little pathetic. She usually embraced that part of herself. She stared at the screen and finally wrote, Would love to grab dinner soon. Let him figure out when. If he asked for tonight, she could easily say she’d made other plans.
The response came within three minutes. Basketball game tonight (at the old folks’ home). Maybe tomorrow?
Ryaan smiled. Perfect. Talk tomorrow. Good luck tonight.
Thanks. Just trying not to break anything.
Ryaan smiled. A date. A real date, and she still got to stay home on Saturday night. By seven, her mother had been home and gone back out to play pinochle with a group of widowed ladies as she did almost every Saturday. Ryaan made herself tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich and curled up on the couch to read a Nelson DeMille novel that had been out for over a decade. She hadn’t even finished her dinner when her cell phone started ringing from the bedroom.
It was the idea that it might have been Hal that got her off the couch. By the time Patrick’s name showed on the screen, she was resigned to answering. “Berry.”
“I found Penn. Got his phone records, and there were a bunch of calls to a landline. We got a hit on the address of a Cecilia Criado. Neighbors say Karl’s been staying with Cici. I thought I might drop in for a visit.”
Ryaan groaned. “Tonight?”
“Patrol did a drive-by. Looks like he’s home. Come on, Berry. Gotta strike when the iron’s hot. Plus, when was the last time we did a stakeout?”
“Well, I went to a burned down building two nights ago while you were asleep.”
Patrick laughed. “Hey, I hear you. I can handle it. Just wanted to keep my partner in the loop.”
Ryaan sighed loudly. “Text me the address. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thatta girl.”
Ryaan got dressed in warm, dark-colored clothes. She put on her bulletproof vest and a black windbreaker and ran the A/C in the car to keep from sweating. It was only sixty-four degrees out, but the vest always made her overheat. From her mother’s house, Bayview was a straight shot up the freeway, which would likely be quiet this time on a Saturday. Or relatively quiet anyway. Ryaan plugged the address into her phone and followed the directions.
Ryaan called Patrick when she was a few blocks away. “I’m close. Where are you?”
“Come down Thomas. We’re parked in front of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.” Ryaan heard one of the patrol officers make a crack. Patrick laughed.
She hung up and followed Ingalls past Van Dyke and Underwood until she reached Thomas Ave. The patrol car was parked closest. Patrick’s Blazer was farther down the block. Ryaan stopped beside the men and rolled her window down.
“We’re ready to
move,” Patrick announced. “Right, guys?”
The patrol officers nodded.
“When was the last time you had eyes on him?”
Patrick touched his phone. “Got it covered from an apartment on the next street down. Captain Marshall had access to a snitch in the area who owed him a favor.”
Marshall was the captain of Homicide. This was the first she’d heard about his snitch, but every department negotiated with lesser criminals to hold on to the more serious ones, and the chits the department gained from the offenders who got off were a valuable commodity.
“I’m surprised Marshall doesn’t have his people down here,” Ryaan said.
“Oh, he does. O’Shea and Kong are sitting on their guy until we find Karl.”
“Should we head over?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the patrol officers said.
“Let’s go,” added the other with a little pump of his fist. Rookie.
Patrick opened the door and got into Ryaan’s car. As he directed, he called in to confirm their move. “You got backup?” Patrick asked whomever was on the line. Someone responded and Patrick said, “You’d better, asshole.” Not even a hint of a smile.
When he ended the call, Ryaan looked over. “Everything okay?”
“Just a precaution,” he told her, pointing at their turn.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to,” he said. “You have a lousy poker face.”
Ryaan drove around the corner and onto a street that looked like it was in the midst of being rebuilt. Large metal plates scarred the road like Band-Aids. The plates were sometimes used in areas where utility crews were working on gas lines and water mains. In many parts of the city, though, the metal plates were laid down to cover potholes that had become too large to leave and for which the city had neither the budget nor the interest to fix. As she made her way down the barely lit street in Bayview, she counted seven in a stretch of about fifty feet. Her car moaned as it rocked over the bumps the edges of the plates created.
Kindly, Patrick didn’t mention the sorry state of her shocks. She’d already heard it from him a half dozen times. It was a city car, after all. It wasn’t like she had to pay for the repairs. It just meant that she had to give up access to the vehicle for the five or seven or nine days it would take them to repair it. With no extra vehicles, a loaner was out of the question and Ryaan didn’t have another vehicle. She’d get the shocks fixed when she took her next week-long vacation—next year, if she was lucky.
Patrick pointed to a green stucco building with a large white wrought iron gate in front. “Cici lives in the top unit, facing the back.” Patrick waved her farther down the block and pointed to a long stretch of empty sidewalk. Veering around a couple of caution road signs which covered smaller potholes—ones only large enough for full-sized men rather than full-sized trucks—Ryaan parked along a warehouse-like building with a metal corrugated facade.
She shut off the car, tucked the key into her jacket pocket and zipped up. She shifted the holster under her arm to try to minimize the way it cut into her shoulder along the edge of the vest. It was easier to wear the getup when she was on her feet rather than sitting.
Patrick adjusted his earpiece. Ryaan took hers from the center console and wedged it into her left ear, tucking the plastic tubing around the back of her ear before clipping the microphone to the collar of her jacket.
“You hear me?” Patrick asked.
“Like you’re sitting beside me,” she told him.
Patrick frowned. “Through the radio?”
Ryaan smiled. “And through the radio.”
Patrick cracked the door and got out first. Ryaan could tell he was nervous. He lost his sense of humor. He moved faster. Some people faked it better than Patrick. Ryaan appreciated the tells. These calls made her nervous, too, so knowing her partner wasn’t about to go in without some hesitation was comforting.
Ryaan walked over to where Patrick stood with two uniforms.
“Berry, this is Officers Chad Desantis and Len Garrison. Garrison was in the same class as my nephew, Mitch.”
Garrison nodded. “Mitch’s a good guy.”
Patrick slapped him on the back. “Glad you think so.”
“We ready to move?” Desantis asked, rubbing his hands together like a teenager going into a fight. Since she’d first seen him, Chad had been bouncing on his feet, fidgeting. Ryaan glanced at Patrick, and he gave a little nod like he already knew it was an issue. Everything about young Desantis made her think he could be a real liability.
Ryaan studied the green apartment building. “You’re sure he’s there?”
“I don’t need to be. O’Shea’s watching him,” Patrick reminded her.
Despite her doubts, this was happening. She had opted in. Now she was here, and there was nothing to do but move forward. “What’s the plan?” she asked, forcing herself to engage.
“You and Garrison cover the street,” Patrick told her. “Desantis and I will go around the back.” He glanced down the street. “O’Shea and Kong are watching, and they’ll join us as soon as we’ve got Karl.”
Desantis started to move when Ryaan took hold of his uniform sleeve. “Hold on, cowboy.”
Desantis pulled himself free and crossed his arms to show her he wasn’t taking any shit.
“What’s his best exit?” Ryaan asked still blocking his path.
Patrick nodded. “Good question. Easiest egress is down the back stairs. I will cover that exit. Desantis will be positioned to cover the balcony. That door is the only other way out, and it’s a twenty-foot drop.”
Ryaan smiled. “Sounds foolproof.”
“It is,” Desantis snapped.
“Bullshit,” Patrick snapped. “Don’t be cocky, kid. Nothing’s foolproof. You’d be smart to listen to Inspector Berry’s questions and take some fucking notes.”
“Yes, sir,” Desantis said, turning his gaze to his shoes.
“We all clear?” Patrick asked, touching his earpiece.
“We’re set,” Ryaan assured him with a hand to her own.
Patrick set off with Desantis on his tail.
Ryaan scanned the long wrought iron fence. There was only one gate, on the far left. “I’ll cover the gate,” Ryaan said. “You keep an eye on the street for unwanted company or a runner.”
Garrison nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ryaan walked diagonally across the street, keeping clear of the apartment windows as she made her way to the gate. The fence itself was sturdy and thick, a lot of iron and expensive for this area of town. Someone either had a lot of extra metal and some serious welding experience or they were looking to keep people out. The gate, too, was solid with a fancy keyed lock that she expected to be locked. When she pulled on it, though, the gate swung open. Ryaan looked back at Garrison and pointed to the inside of the gate. Then she pointed to herself and into the gate again. I’m going in.
Garrison nodded, and Ryaan drew her weapon as she stepped over the white base of the gate. With her left hand, she swept the beam of her penlight across the side yard of the apartment where between ten and fifteen cars were parked. Looked like a junkyard. She switched off the beam and touched her earpiece. “Status.”
There was nothing for a moment, then came the crackle that made her jump. “Ringing the bell.”
“Roger,” she said back, which made Patrick groan.
Ryaan waited for sounds from the apartment. They always assumed the suspect would run, but maybe Karl Penn would come willingly. A lot of them did. More than you ever saw on the TV shows. Ryaan heard a television in someone’s home and cars on the streets. There were no human voices. She waited for the sounds from her earpiece, feeling her legs grow stiff in the cooling air. A light went on at the far side of the building and Ryaan moved slowly toward it, straining for
the sounds of something happening.
She reached the edge of the pack of cars and stood by an old Buick. Her first car had been a Buick. A 1984 Skylark that had belonged to her mother’s sisters. It had fewer than fifteen thousand miles on it when Ryaan got it in 1994. Someone had painted this one a deep metallic purple. A single dingy red die hung from the rearview mirror, the broken string of the other one dangling beside it, limp and frayed. She moved closer and saw what had once been a bobble head on the dash. What remained was the bottom half of a dog’s body with a bare spring emerging from its neck. It made her think of Taco Bell.
She took a couple more steps into the thick of the cars and reached for her flashlight when Patrick spoke. “We got him.”
Then, a woman screamed, “No. You can’t take him. He didn’t do nothing.”
“Step back, ma’am,” Patrick said.
Garrison ran into the yard, stopping with Ryaan.
“I think the girlfriend is upset,” Ryaan said, starting for the back of the building. Ryaan walked. Garrison ran. “You need some backup?” she asked Patrick in the radio.
“No,” came the terse reply.
“Get off him,” the woman screamed. This time Ryaan had the benefit of Patrick’s radio, leaving her feeling deaf in her right ear.
Ryaan paused, waiting to see if her assistance was needed. A couple of minutes later, Officer Chad Desantis strutted around the corner, pushing a handcuffed suspect in front of him. Ryaan assumed it was Karl Penn who tripped as Desantis pushed. Patrick was a few feet behind.
“Where’s the girlfriend?”
“Garrison’s calming her down. Her sister’s coming over.”
“What’s with all the screaming?”
Patrick gave a wry smile. Relaxed. “Guess she’s going to miss him.”
Ryaan shook her head, holstered her gun. “Well, we got what we came for.”
“Didn’t even put up a fight,” Desantis bragged as though the mere sight of the young officer had driven Karl Penn to surrender.
“Right,” Penn said. “I didn’t fight, so why these handcuffs so tight? They’re cutting into my wrists, man.”
Interference Page 17